Tuesday, 19 August 2014



My Dad came back again last night
as if he’d never been away.
We sat out on the deck, drank whiskey,
cut with ice from the hard edged moon.
We talked about Marmite and Oscar Wilde, 
the state of the nation and how to recognise good steak.

Looking at him in that light
I saw the man I knew for just a while,
before his memories
outweighed his future.
His eyes claimed back their laughter,
our hands were steady as we raised a glass.

Waning with the moon
towards the horizon
he left me to myself,
to chink his empty glass,
say ‘Cheers’
and seek the warmth indoors.

Remember pitching our old ‘A’ frame tent?
Set just one line wrong, end up wet all night.
The pegs were mis-matched, half the poles were bent.
It took us hours to get the canvas tight.

You’d let me light the lamp, you’d start a fire,
burn sausages and give me sips of beer,
then tell me ghostly tales ‘til we grew tired.
“I’m frightened Dad.” “Don’t worry Son, I’m here.”

They put you in a tent with plastic sides
to hold in oxygen, so you could breathe.
I came and sat with you those last few nights,
knowing the time was close for you to leave.
You spoke, I leaned inside the tent to hear;
“I’m frightened Son.” “Don’t worry Dad, I’m here.”

Thursday, 8 August 2013

Morning Tea

It's just a tea bag in a mug
each morning,
with a dash of milk and half a sugar.
I draw the spoon around the rim
so chiming china stirs your sleeping head.
'Is that for me?'
You've said it every day
for fifteen years.
It always is.

Monday, 2 January 2012

River of Stones - Day 2

Breathe in deeply, time to dive into the cold waters of another year.

Sunday, 1 January 2012

River of stones - Day 1

Seven sisters shrouded in the mist, the devil's cast his net today.

Monday, 16 March 2009

Captain Dan

Captain Dan was an Action Man
who died in interrogation.
He never revealed the Master Plan,
he defended a heedless nation.
Now, under the earth his eagle eyes
stare sightlessy into the dark,
by the rhubarb patch, where his body lies
in a grave without a mark.

The cause of his torment is now a man,
a leader of our society.
Never a hint of where he began,
reknowned for his kindness and piety.
But at night he thinks of inflicted pain,
staring sightlessly into the dark.
He knows if he could he would do it again
and never leave a mark.

Sunday, 8 March 2009

Young woman (Old man)

“What lovely pictures, dear.”
(Shards of my life, captured in silver salts.)

“Weren't you the bright young thing!”
(Each one draining light, slipping shadow in its place.)

“Shall we hang some on your walls?”
(Snap! A year. Snap! A child. Snap! A wife.)

“You must miss them.”
(They are gone now.)

“Here, I'll help you into bed.”
(She slows, so I can almost make her out. I start to speak.)

“Still, such lovely memories. Tea or cocoa?”
(She resonates again. I smile, the lens will capture her light soon.)